


What's In A Name?

by silverstardust



Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [6]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Absent Parents, Background Original Characters - Freeform, Child Abandonment, Fantastic Racism, Forebodings, Found Family, Joxter is a cat, Needed them to fill the blank spaces, Original Character Death(s), Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, References to Canon, References to previous fanfics, Superstition, Tying Loose Ends, ish?, not sure how to tag this, parental figures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: The young boy turned out to be an utter menace. One rainy night turned into a full week, with no sign of the boy’s father. On the days they remained cooped up inside, the boy hid things away from the old farmer and pretended not to know where they were when he asked, even if they weren’t hidden particularly well. During chores, the boy was often underfoot and in the way. And when they weren’t cooped up inside, the boy terrorized the chickens, and darted between the legs of his startled milk cow that the farmer was afraid the boy would be gored to death by the hooves. Mud was tracked over the porch constantly, and the knees of the boy’s clothing were stained by mud or grass daily, needing constant cleaning.But the old farmer took it in stride.--July 30, 2020 Update: A heavily edited version of this story is in the works for publication. Any publication of this story or a story similar is authorized.
Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495559
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this entire thing today, so it's a little late, sorry
> 
> This work covers the topic of fantastical racism, however it may not be an accurate. I come from privileged stance in which I've never had to experience racism myself. Please feel free to inform me or give advice on how to correct inaccurate scenes.

For living in a town full of hemulens, the old farmer knew quite a bit about mumriks. Then again, he lived at the very edge of what was considered part of the town by his own choice, and much preferred mumriks (who were always more than happy to share a handful of stories, or willing to do a day’s work in exchange for weathering out a stormy night in his barn) than the rest of the town and the ceaseless chattering of who was doing what to their garden.

Mumrik folk came and went, despite the town preferring they had not ever been there at all, and along with them, came and went did the seasons, and the old farmer began to learn much of what their culture and beliefs were like.

He was, therefore, upset, but not surprised, when a mumrik kit wandered into the town alone. Mumriks only ever had one child at a time, the little things often wild and difficult to contain or keep track of, and parents often waited until it was fairly grown before even considering another. Most would rather leave their kit alone for a short period of time than intentionally lead it into danger, instead returning for the kit once the danger was dealt with. The farmer had watched a kit for a day multiple times, only to be repaid with the pelt of a wolf or a coyote, that had been perceived as a threat to the kit’s safety, and to the safety of his flock.

But the mumrik child had black hair, and the fur on his hands were black, and the townsfolk, extending their superstitious belief about common house cats on the mumrik species as a whole, avoided him like the plague.

But the farmer could tell the boy had a good heart and a good head on his shoulders.

The young boy never crossed in front of someone else, instead letting them pass by first, and although the marketplaces vendors ignored him, the boy always left more than what the farmer would consider a fair share on the table when he took something he needed.

But according to the radio, a storm was coming, and the old farmer would not be able to rest with his conscience if he did not at least offer his barn to the young kit. So as his wagon approached the tree the boy was hunched under, the old farmer pulled on the reigns and brought his mule to a stop.

The boy glanced up warily to the wagon, tightly clutching a dead robin in his hands, in the middle of stripping it clean of feathers. The kit’s black hair hung in his face, and the bags under his bright blue eyes were evident, making the boy look significantly more predatory than any other mumrik kit the farmer had seen before.

No matter.

“Good catch,” the farmer praised. “Those fat buggers are pests to my crops.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, sir,” the boy quickly said. “I haven’t even touched the signs.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate so, if I did. Where are your parents? You’re awfully young to be roaming without a pack.”

“Papa said to wait here.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

The old farmer nodded, then patted the space in the driver’s bench next to him. “Weatherman says there’s a storm coming, son. Would you like to wait it out in my barn?”

“I haven’t got anything you’d want, sir.”

“You don’t have to give me anything. You can watch my flock for me tomorrow instead. A mumrik sleeping on their backs is more than enough of a deterrent for hungry wildlife.”

The boy eyed the old farmer nervously, prying more of the stained feathers off the bird and dropping them to the ground. “My papa said to wait here.”

“Alright then. If you change your mind, follow this road until you reach a farm. You can weather out the storm there, and I’ll have a warm meal ready for you. Instead of, uh, raw bird guts and blood.”

The boy flushed in embarrassment, trying to wipe away the blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. But he said nothing in response, so the farmer slapped his reigns, and the mule began its way forwards down the road again.

It was only a few minutes until the old farmer heard a thump in the back of his wagon. He said nothing until the boy pulled himself up into the driver’s bench, sitting next to him with his feet dangling high above the foot rest.

“Changed your mind, I see.”

“You don’t seem like the other townsfolk,” the boy said, swinging his feet.

“What’s your name? How old are you?”

“Seven. And I haven’t got none, sir.”

The old farmer balked. “Haven’t got no name? What does your father call you then?”

“He calls me-” The boy paused, his face flickering into an imitative scowl- “You there, boy!”

“What about your mother then? Before she died?”

The boy shrugged, picking at his claws. “I never met her. It’s just me and my papa."

“Well, I’m not just going to call you boy. I’ll see if I can think of a name you’ll like.”

  


  


The young boy turned out to be an utter menace. One rainy night turned into a full week, with no sign of the boy’s father. On the days they remained cooped up inside, the boy hid things away from the old farmer and pretended not to know where they were when he asked, even if they weren’t hidden particularly well. During chores, the boy was often underfoot and in the way. And when they weren’t cooped up inside, the boy terrorized the chickens, and darted between the legs of his startled milk cow that the farmer was afraid the boy would be gored to death by the hooves. Mud was tracked over the porch constantly, and the knees of the boy’s clothing were stained by mud or grass daily, needing constant cleaning.

But the old farmer took it in stride; it wasn’t the first mumrik kit the farmer had temporarily taken under his care, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Even in the kitchen the boy was destructive, flour coating the counter and his hair as he mixed a bowl of dough.

“I’ve thought of a name,” the old farmer said.

The boy perked up, immediately dropping the bowl onto the counter. “What is it?”

“You seem to love being a nuisance, so I thought perhaps we’d call you Jokester.”

The boy paused, tilting his head. “That’s a very unhemulen name.”

“If you’re a hemulen, you’re an odd looking one. Do you not like it?”

“I like it,” the boy said, going back to mixing the dough, “It just makes me feel bad.”

“If a name makes you feel bad, it shouldn’t be your name.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The boy stared determinedly down into the dough. “It’s just my papa won’t be coming back. I know he won’t. You’re stuck with me, and no one wants to be stuck with a black furred mumrik. We’re bad luck. I’m bad luck.”

“I thought I told you not to listen to those hemulens.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. My papa said so. He gets angry when he drinks.”

The old farmer paused, setting the knife on the cutting board. “And you think he’s not coming back?”

“If he were coming back, he would have done so within an hour of leaving. He doesn’t want me.”

“Well, good riddance if you ask me,” the farmer grumbled, going back to slicing up onions. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, Jokester.”

Jokester smiled, flicking a crumb of dough back into the bowl.

  


  


The pitchfork in Jokester’s hands fell like a stone, banging loudly against the wood of the wagon. The old farmer stuck his own into the earth, leaning against the handle.

“What is it?”

Jokester didn’t respond, so the old farmer followed his gaze. Down the hill came a ruckus from the road into town, singing and shouting and general amusement. In brightly colored, hand stitched clothing, running and chattering happily amongst themselves was a pack of mumriks.

The first mumriks that had come even near this town since Jokester had appeared four years ago.

One of the mumriks, the younger woman of the group, decorated in brightly colored wreaths of wild flowers, noticed their staring. She hopped up onto the lowest rung of the fence, balancing on her toes and waving gleefully before she cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered.

“Hello!!”

The old farmer smiled and waved back. Slowly, as if the boy had been struck dumb, Jokester raised one hand and waved slightly. The mumrik pack continued on, down the road, and Jokester turned with them as they left, watching them as they went along.

Jokester did not return to work until the pack had long disappeared out of sight.

That night, after dinner, the stairs creaked ever so quietly as Jokester stole down them. The old farmer paused his reading, setting a bookmark in the page before putting the book aside on the end table. Jokester stood in front of him, in the middle of the room, dressed in his warmest shirt and sturdiest boots, a small knapsack clutched tightly in one of his hands.

“Well?” the old farmer asked.

Jokester opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing, his mouth quickly closing with a soft click from his fangs. Instead, nervously, he picked at one shoulder of his suspenders, gaze dropping to the floor.

The old farmer shook his head, standing up from his chair. Jokester watched him silently as the old farmer walked to the coat rack, picking up his red work hat.

And without a word, the old farmer firmly placed it on Jokester’s head.

“Go on now. Get! Before you lose their trail!”

Jokester grinned, pushing the brim of the hat out of his eyes and flung his bag over his shoulder before darting out of the house. The old farmer watched from the doorway as Jokester tore down the hill, vaulting himself over the perimeter fence for the last time and running down the road into town. The old farmer shook his head as he stepped back inside and shut the door.

There was mud on his porch.

  


  


It wasn’t too hard to find the mumrik pack down the road, even in the dark of night. Night vision prevented him from useless tripping, and the sound of music and singing was more than easy enough to follow out of town, and into the surrounding forests. He continued to run, following the noise, until he burst into their camp, stopping just short of stepping into their campfire. Jokester took a step back, steading himself, and the camp fell silent, staring at him.

“It’s the little farm boy!” the younger woman shouted cheerfully, “The one who waved earlier! Hello!”

“Hello,” said Jokester breathlessly, eyes sliding over the group in intrigue. “You’re all mumriks.”

One of the older mumriks set his guitar aside. “Come to listen to our stories, have you?”

“I’ve come to join you, sir.”

“Join us?” the man with the guitar repeated. “Now hold on here, mumrik life is hardly the lifestyle for any hemulen charge-”

“Oh, Ato, you shut yourself up now!” the older woman complained. “Look at his tail, and his paws. That’s a mumrik if I’ve ever seen one.” She turned to Jokester, taking his hand and pulling him down to sit on the log next to her. “Sweetheart, where’s your parents? You can’t be much older than ten. What’s your name?”

“The old farmer called me Jokester, I’m eleven. He’s been taking care of me, but he said to leave with you. Said I ought to."

The man with the guitar- Ato, it must be, shook his head. “That’s hardly a mumrik name at all. What did your parents call you?”

“My papa didn’t call me anything.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the older woman cooed, wrapping one arm around Jokester and rubbed his shoulder in a motherly manner. “We’ll give you a real, proper mumrik name. We’ll spin it off of Jokester, surely, how about…. Joxaren? How does Joxaren sound?”

“I love it, miss.”

“Good! I’m Charlotte, that’s my husband, Ato, and that’s my sister Luulitikka. Her boyfriend is Signias, but he’s out grabbing more wood right now. But you are so much more than welcome to join our mini pack, sweetheart. I don’t know how you managed to stay in one town for so long, much less a hemulen one. I can’t ever bear to stay in one spot for so long.”

“We’ll teach you the proper way to be a mumrik,” Ato agreed, lifting his guitar and setting it across his knees, fingertips lazily stroking the strings. “Tell us, kid, what do you know about travelling? Or plants, hunting, the like?”

“I don’t know much about hunting sir,” Jokester- Joxaren- admitted. “I usually fished with the farmer instead. But I know a lot about plants and star maps and the universe. The farmer had a lot of science books, he had me read instead of going to school with the hemulen children.”

“Signias can show you how to skin and gut your catch,” Luulitikka volunteered. “It’s a bit like descaling a fish, but much messier. And our tents are two-persons each, but there should be plenty of room to share until we can get one of your own. We can take turns sharing.”

“In the meantime, here, sweetheart.” Charlotte pulled a pot off the fire, carefully pouring the hot coffee into the mugs gathered next to her before passing him one. “Why don’t you tell us about the universe? I never was able to learn star mapping.”

“Did you know that stars come in different colors?” Joxaren began.

  


  


Joxaren couldn’t have asked for more, travelling with the other mumriks. They taught him everything he still needed to learn to live the way they did, living off of what the forest, or the plains, or wherever they were could provide for them, constantly travelling to wherever they wished, whenever they wanted, with just the essentials shared amongst them. The only thing that Joxter had, that truly was his own, a book he had taken when he left the farm, a book about the universe that he had long memorized the contents of. Now, he used it to carefully press flowers between the pages, carefully scrawling the names of the flowers and the places he had found them between the text printed on the pages.

They travelled wherever they wished, and no one could stop them, and he loved it. He didn’t want to give them any reason to think him a burden, to think him too difficult to handle and cause them to look for someone else, somewhere else to dump him so they could continue as they had before.

So when he woke up with blood dripping down his face, he said nothing to Luulitikka and Signias, asleep on the opposite side of the tent. He pressed a hand to his face and carefully shimmied out of the tent, not wanting to wake them. But it seemed the rustling of the tent canvas as Joxaren left woke them anyways, because as Joxaren began to stumble down to the river they had camped next to, Luulitikka followed him, holding him steady by his shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, I promise.” Joxaren knelt down next to the water, splashing his face to clean away the blood.

“Are you sure? Let me see.” Luulitikka gently turned Joxaren’s head, inspecting his nose. “There doesn’t seem to be any external injuries, have you hit your head recently?”

No.” Joxaren pulled away, wiping away the rest of the blood.

“Just bleeding, then?” Luulitikka sat down next to him.

“I’ll be fine, we can continue moving on.”

“We can stop for a while if you’re sick, kid.” Signias handed Luulitikka a mug of coffee, before sitting down next to them. “Luuli knows medicine.”

Joxaren shrugged, and Luulitikka ruffled his hair.”Well, please let us know if you’re not feeling well. We can always stop for a few days until you feel better.”

“I’m fine now.” Joxaren stood up, shaking his hands dry of water. “Shouldn’t we be worried more about you anyways?”

“What? Why?”

Joxaren sent her an odd look. “You said you’re pregnant.”

Signias choked on his coffee, spewing it onto the ground. Luulitikka recoiled back slightly, blinking in confusion.

“I’m not? I never said that.”

Signias continued to cough a lung up, eyes watering slightly.

Joxaren frowned. “But you… last night you said…”

Luulitikka slowly shook her head. “I never said anything of the sort. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh.” Joxaren frowned deeper, gaze dropping to the ground as he shifted on his feet. “I… I guess I must have been dreaming.”

Signias and Luulitikka shared a glance at each other before Signias reached out and gently patted Joxaren’s shoulder.

“No foul done, kid. You were just concerned. I made coffee, go help yourself.”

Joxaren left the two of them at the river, collecting kindling sticks as he went to feed the fire a bit longer before they had to go collect firewood for breakfast.

But the second he stepped into the camp, Ato looked to him and frowned immediately.

“Sit down.”

“But-” Joxaren began, “Firewood, we don’t-”

“Sit your butt down kid.” Ato repeated, and Joxaren dropped the kindling sticks like they were already on fire, dropping down onto the log.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?”

Ato sat next to him, taking a gentle hold of Joxaren;s head and pressing the boy’s forehead to his cheek. “You’re running a fever. Are you alright? Are you getting cold at night? We can get you an extra blanket- are you bleeding?”

Joxaren lifted a hand to his nose, wiping away the blood. “I’m sorry, I thought it stopped. I woke up and it was bleeding.”

“Have you been having weird dreams? Surreal ones?” Ato asked. Charlotte stepped over to them and picked up the kindling sticks, poking them into the small campfire.

“I’m..” Joxaren paused, thinking back to Luulitikka’s and Signias’s reactions. “I’m not sure I should say. I’ve already upset Signias and Luuli.”

“But did they seem real? Like you were awake?” Charlotte asked gently. Joxaren slowly nodded.

“You’re having forebodings, sweetheart,” Charlotte said, sitting down on the other side of Joxaren. “It’ll pass in a few days, but in the meantime, we can stay and rest here. The first one’s always a doozy.”

“What are forebodings?”

“Is everything alright?” Luulitika and Signias stepped back into the camp, holding armfuls of firewood. “Joxaren, are you sure you’re alright? You’re pale.”

“He’s experiencing forebodings, we’ll need to rest for a few days.” Charlotte stood up, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

Luulitikka and Signias shared another glance, and Joxaren sunk into the blanket.

  


  


Luulitikka approached Joxaren at the pier, where he had gone to see if he could catch anything while the adults went into the town. Joxaren glanced at her as she sat down next to him, but said nothing, eyes dropping back to the water as he watched a fish of particular interest.

“Joxaren?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“How did you know I was pregnant?”

Joxaren frowned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “You said you weren’t.”

“I was, I just didn’t know it yet.” She paused, tilting her head at him. “You didn’t talk about your forebodings much. Is that what it was? You knew by forebodings?”

“I didn’t have any realistic dreams of anything else,” Joxaren said. “I’m sorry. That must be a pretty bad way to find out.”

“It’s alright.” Luulitikka reached out and gently patted Joxaren’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  


  


“There’s a festival going on in that town,” Ato said. The group paused, and Joxaren climbed onto the fence, carefully keeping his balance as he gazed down into the town. Even from here, he could see bright banners and the faintest noise of music floated on the wind.

“It looks fun,” Luulitikka commented, leaning on the fence next to Joxter. “I’d love to check it out.”

“It’s a hemulen town,” Joxaren commented nervously. “It’s giving me a bad feeling.”

Charlotte ruffled his hair. “Oh, we’ll just take a peek. We’ll enjoy ourselves for a while, and we’ll be out of the town long before it ever begins to wind down, okay?”

"It couldn’t hurt,” Luulitikka agreed with her. The two girls began heading down the road again, Signias quick to follow.

Joxaren pulled away from the fence hesitantly and began to follow them.

The festival was already in full swing, banners and streamers flying in the breeze as vendor booths lined the streets, various people shouting out about their wares. Children in costumes darted between the legs of the passing adults, and Joxaren stuck close to Charlotte and Ato as they wandered down the street, clutching her hand.

“You can wander and play with the other children if you’d like. They look the same as you,” Charlotte encouraged. She passed him a few apple slices, covered in a sticky golden sauce that matted in his fur but melted the second it touched his tongue.

“I’d rather stay here all the same. I don’t want to cause trouble,” he muttered.

Ato chuckled, sitting down on the bench with Charlotte. “It won’t hurt to play a little.”

A group of kids raced past, and one of the kids skidded to a stop in front of them.

“Hello! I love your costume! You look like a kitty cat!”

“Thank you.”

Joxaren hesitantly followed the pack of children at Charlotte's gentle encouragement, and the girl chattered excitedly as she caught up to the rest of her friends.

“-can join us, we were playing tag! You know tag right? You must, all kids play it, Franz is it!”

“Who’s Franz?”

A young boy waved his hand, and at the count of three, the children began to scatter as Franz spinned on his heels. The girl who had yanked him away from Charlotte and Ato grabbed his arm and once again began dragging him behind her as she ran.

“Why’d you choose a black cat for your costume?” the girl asked as Joxaren stumbled to keep up with her. “Aren’t they bad luck? What’s your name, how old are you, where’s your house? You can come play with us all the time, when we don’t have chores that is, it’ll be so much fun!”

“I-” Joxaren tried to keep the questions in order, in his head. “I’m Joxaren, I’m twelve, I don’t live here actually-”

The girl laughed, speaking in a sing-song tone. “Joxaren, what a funny name! Joxaren, Joxaren! You said you’re not from here? Are you from the town next over? Maybe we can get your parents to move- or I can get mine to move! Either way! We can be best friends!”

“We can’t be best friends.” Joxaren dug his boots into the ground, dragging them until the girl came to a stop. “I don’t live anywhere near here. I don’t live in a house.”

The girl paused, confusion melting onto her face. “You… don’t? What do you mean you don’t? Everyone lives in a house. Except mumriks, but they’re dirty.”

Joxaren recoiled immediately, snapping his hand away from her. “They’re not dirty. They just appreciate and respect nature the way everyone ought to.”

“My mama says mumriks don’t bathe at all and hurt people for fun.”

“Well, she’s wrong! Just because we can’t swim as well as others doesn’t mean we don’t bathe at all. And nobody I’ve met would ever hurt anyone for fun! They’re kind people.”

“We?” the girl questioned, and Joxaren paused, regarding her nervously.

“You said ‘we’,” she pressed further. “You’re a mumrik. You’re a mumrik!”

Joxaren winced at the shout, especially as eyes began to turn when she raised her voice. He took another step away from her, tightly gripping his jacket sides as more and more heads began to turn, soft voices accompanying the forming crowd.

_A mumrik, it’s a mumrik, he’s a mumrik-_

“At least it’s just a child,” someone murmured close to him, and Joxaren jumped at the voice, edging away from them. “Someone can clip its claws before it hurts someone. It’d probably spread a disease, who knows what things it can catch living feral.”

“But I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Joxaren whispered, but even now the girl has pulled away, has been pulled into the crowd by a concerned parent. He’s completely surrounded in a hemulen town.

It’s just as a hemulen police officer is pushing through the crowd to get to him that Charlotte appears, dropping down next to him from a rooftop. She crouched around him protectively, and Joxaren let himself be swept up into her arms.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Charlotte said coldly. “We’ve been obeying your rules.”

“Our town rules said no mumriks at all. You creatures have caused enough problems in the past.”

“I’m very sorry you’ve had a few bad run-ins, but it’s no excuse to corner a child. He was playing with the children, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

The hemulen officer balked. “He could very easily spread an illness-”

“Mumriks have some of the best immune systems in the world,” Charlotte interrupted. “He’s not sick, he looks as perfectly healthy as the rest of the children here. And if your child gets sick at a little dust, you can’t blame him for not knowing.”

The police officer scowled, taking a step forward, and Charlotte flinched a step back. “Now listen here, you and the rest of you dirty creatures are going to leave this town, and you won’t come back, or we will use force. Immediately. You’re not wanted here.”

“You can’t own the ground,” Joxaren mumbled, and Charlotte placed a hand against his head to remind him that perhaps, for now, it was best to be silent.

“I need time,” Charlotte said, “I have a small group with me, just two others. We were separated and-”

A spark.

From the corner of his eye, Joxaren could see a spark, and then a small red glow amongst the blurry masses of the crowd. It reminded him of the old farmer, of the odd stick that made loud noises when he wanted to scare away the predatory animals from his barn.

“Charlotte-” Joxaren began.

A crack rang out and Charlotte flinched, something splattering against the ground as she swayed. Within that instant, Ato had jumped down from the same roof Charlotte had, towards the hemulen officer, causing a part of the crowd to scream and scatter. Charlotte recovered from her swaying, holding Joxaren tightly as she jumped up and ran. And ran, and ran, and ran, as far away from the crowd as she could. As soon as she was past the outskirts of the town, she dropped her pace slightly, struggling to keep going with the tempo she had, short of breath and her grip on Joxter loosening further. By the time she had darted back into the forest, only a couple yards away from the town road, she dropped to the ground, relaxing her hold on Joxaren and letting him go.

Joxaren slid out of her arms, hovering around her nervously. “Charlotte.”

“Hush, whisper. We don’t want to be found.” Charlotte slowly lowered herself to the ground, resting against a protruding tree root, “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Joxaren sat down next to her, nervously eyeing the red patch in the middle of her stomach, watching it slowly grow bigger. “But Ato- and Luuli and Signias-”

“Ato will duck out and away, now that he knows we’re safe,” Charlotte reassured him, gently reaching out and stroking his hair. “And Luuli and Signias are smart. They’ll have left when the commotion first started. They rendezvous with you and Ato soon.”

“But you’re hurt. I need to go find Luuli so she can-”

But Charlotte grabbed his jacket, and gently pulled him back down, sitting next to her.

“No,” she said softly, and Joxaren slumped against the tree as she went back to stroking his hair.

“You’re a very brave young boy,” Charlotte continued. “But some people just don’t understand why mumriks are the way we are, and why we’re not like them. And they can be mean, and hurtful, just like anyone else. They will hurt you if they find you. Promise me you’ll stay here. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I will.” 

Charlotte nodded, dropping her head back against the tree root. Joxaren fumbled nervously with his jacket sleeves, waiting and watching for any sign of Ato, or Luuli and Signias.

“Joxaren,” Charlotte began quietly, and he jerked his head attentively to her. She closed her eyes, pulling her hand away from him and resting it on her stomach.

“Tell me about the stars,” she whispered.

“Did you know that stars can’t be green?” Joxaren asked, but his only response was the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

  


  


_It’s Charlotte in front of him, but at the same time, Joxaren knows it isn’t so. She still looked mostly the same, but she was distorted, fading, as all things do with time. The small details were being forgotten. The flowery stitching in her jacket has faded in color, the edges of her image blurred and smeared, but she’s still as bright as ever, even with her colors faded and full._

_It’s been years since she died, and Joxaren isn’t the same child he was then. He was no longer oblivious or ignorant to how the world works, and he knew he should be long over this nightmare. There’s nothing he could do now certainly, and there was nothing he could have done as a child, either._

_He still wishes he had managed to find Luuli and Signias or Ato though._

_But the nightmare didn’t progress as it should, as it usually does. Charlotte smiled sweetly at him, perched on an old tree stump, and the road Joxaren is on split into two, both going past her. There was something stopping him from stepping off the road, or turning back and heading the other way._

_“I’m proud of you, y’know,” Charlotte said, and Joxaren remained rooted in place._

_“I wish I could have been around longer,” she continued, sliding off the stump. “Have you learned more about the stars? I know you loved them so.”_

_“They’ve made new constellations.”_

____

_Charlotte nodded, stepping onto the road, and Joxaren is nearly as tall as she was now, only having to look up the slightest bit to look her in the eye. Slowly, she wrapped him in a hug, and he let her._

__

_“Wandering was so much fun when you joined us.” Charlotte let go of him, taking a step back again. “You reminded us what it was like to be a kid again. I only wish we could have done so for longer. You still had so much to learn- and to teach us.”_

__

_“We can’t change anything.”_

__

_Charlotte smiled sadly, nodding. “No, I can’t, and you ought to keep moving on. Not all who wander are lost though, Joxaren, and soon you will wander right to where you are supposed to be.”_

__

_“And where is that?”_

__

_Charlotte stepped to the side, waving her hand to the split in the road._

__

_Down the road, to the left of the stump that had been her perch, was the forest, the same one he had travelled through to first find Charlotte and the rest of the group, when he first found them to join them. Just out of sight, he could see the flickering illumination of a campfire, and he could hear voices talking happily, sharing stories around the fire. But slowly, his eyes drifted to the road on the right, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen._

__

_The ocean sprawled out in front of him, endless and shimmering blue. The very first hints of a thunderstorm, grey churning, angry clouds rumbled on the horizon, but for now, the glittering blue was peaceful, foaming white as its waves lazily rolled onto the fine white sand and ragged rocks, a soothing melody of crashing and water calming his heart._

__

_Endless, vast, and full of secrets on what was on the other side._

__

_And then he heard it._

__

_A voice drifted on the ocean breeze, soft and lithe, tittering on the high notes and crooning on the low, a sweet lullaby, and Joxaren could almost see the woman behind the voice, just out of reach. The sun began to set over the ocean, setting the sky to flames with a vivid red, and somehow, knowing without knowing, Joxaren knew he’d do anything he could do to find her._

__

_He didn’t know her face, but he’d walk on the molten earth for her._

__

_He took one step down the road, towards the voice, then one step turned into two, into four, and then he was running like he’d never had, his lungs and legs burning as he ran down to the beach._

__

_And then once he reached the sand, he skidded to a stop._

__

_The waves churned and splashed, a spectacularly crafted ship passing in the water. The hull had been painted like the sky, her railing and roof like the red of the setting sun._

__

_And the woman was sitting on the deck, leaning against the railing._

__

_Hair like a river of fire loosely blew in the wind, and the woman, resting her head on her arms as she sweetly crooned another few low notes, slowly opened her eyes. They fell on Joxaren, and she paused her singing, smiled at him so sweetly that he thought she might rot out all his teeth. The woman lifted one arm, waving to him, before turning her head back to the horizon, chest heaving as she took up her song again, the magnificent ship still chugging along._

__

  


__

  


__

He was certain he’d seen this ship before, but he wasn’t sure where. Perhaps a dream, but as of late, he was rubbish at remembering those anyways, the aches and the impending sense of doom to urgent for him to focus on much else.

__

The mumrik stole upon the ship, landing gracefully on the deck. Perhaps the owner would let him weather out the storm here, in gratitude for saving his ship from sendoff. It wouldn’t hurt to find a place a bit more comfortable than a tree branch to rest for the next few days. 

__

No one was up on the deck, nor in the helm, so Joxaren opened the trapdoor, slinking inside. In the lower deck now, he could hear voices, two people conversing with each other, and according to their shadows, they seemed to be stacking cargo.

__

Joxaren slipped down the stairs, turning round to face them. “ ‘Ello, boys.”

__

A young creature with a pot for a hat screamed in fright, dropping the box in his arms. The troll whirled around to face Joxaren, snagging a piece of wood off the ground and holding it menacingly before lowering it.

__

“Oh. It’s just a mumrik.”

__

“Oh? Not scared at all?” Joxaren raised one eyebrow at them. “Interesting. I have a reputation, you see.”

__

The troll shrugged, dropping the piece of wood. “You don’t look like you’d be particularly mean. Is there something you needed from us?”

__

Joxaren’s eyes moved to the crates, stacked up neatly and no doubt organized for an expedition. “Going sailing are you? I wouldn’t advise it, there’s a hurricane coming.”

__

The troll frowned. “I’ve heard no such news from the weatherman.”

__

“Suit yourself then, but my forebodings have never once been wrong. They’re telling me a hurricane is coming, and they’ve been particularly nasty with me.”

__

His joints were throbbing, an angry pulsing in the back of his head. The steady rocking of the ship was not helping him fight back the nausea.

__

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re under the weather.” The troll stepped over to Joxaren, offering him a shoulder that Joxaren was more than relieved to lean upon. “See, actually. You’re quite pale. Are you alright?”

__

“I told you,” Joxaren complained, “My forebodings are being quite nasty. There’s a hurricane, and you shouldn’t be sailing. You’ll get wrecked.”

__

“Alright, alright!” The troll rolled his eyes, helping Joxaren walk to a room in the lower deck. “But stay a while, and rest. You shouldn’t be going anywhere if you’re sick, and you certainly won’t last outside if there really is a hurricane on the way. Which, there isn’t.”

__

“And when it hits, I’m going to be the first one to say I told you so,” Joxaren grumbled, letting the troll push him into a chair. The pain eased only the slightest in his knees, but he knew it’d last until the hurricane had completely passed over them.

__

“I’m Hodgekins,” the troll said, then waved a hand to the creature with the pot hat. “This is Muddler, my nephew.”

__

“Nice to meet you,” the creature muttered hesitantly.

__

“You are?” Hodgekins asked.

__

Joxaren opened his mouth, but closed it again, two names both at the tip of his tongue. He paused, thinking. Softly, on the roof, he could hear the first beginnings of rain, drizzling down and drumming on the deck above their heads in a soothing manner.

__

“Joxter. My name is Joxter.”

__


End file.
